


Cell Mate

by grey853



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen, Implied Torture, Spoilers for "Hidden Memory" and "Nerve"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/grey853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stark is fascinated by his new cell mate, John Crichton</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cell Mate

Cell Mate  


He survived the chair.

Again.

Stark raised his head at the muffled groans as John lay face down on the stone floor of their cell. Squatting there, he watched carefully, still unsure, his own pain fading. This man wasn't like the others.

"Crichton?"

"What?"

"You can't let Scorpy break you."

"Sure. No problem." The forced laughter pained him, the grunting catch of breaths not healthy. "Is there any water?"

"I'm afraid not. Rations don't always come and when they do, they're usually drugged."

"Drugged?"

"Yes. It's hard to sleep otherwise."

"I can imagine." John struggled to get up and braced his back against the wall. He wrapped his arms around his middle, the ragged coughing scraping through the cell. "Is it always this cold?"

"Afraid so." Stark swallowed and then eased his way over to his cell mate, cautious, but still too curious to stay away. "Sitting together helps." Putting his shoulder to John's, he smiled in relief when the other man didn't pull away.

"You been alone a long time, Stark?"

"My last fellow prisoner died a whole cycle ago. His name was B'deen. He wasn't bad as cell mates go. He only lasted two rounds in the chair though. His heart couldn't take it." Stark rubbed his chest, the wicked echoes of his friend's painful screams still playing over in his mind.

"Is that the average, two rounds?"

"I don't know. It's hard to remember."

"It's okay. It doesn't matter." John tried to get up, but fell back down. "God, that thing takes it out of you."

"It's blocking that does it. It doesn't hurt that much if you don't fight it."

"But you still fight it."

"Not as much as I used to, but, yes, I still fight it, but I'm not like you. It doesn't hurt me the same way as it does you."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do."

Stark shut his eyes, drinking in the rush of pressured agony as John remembered the zaps of the chair, the intense spikes of energy charging through his nerves. Shifting closer, he whispered, "You should try to rest. They'll be coming back soon."

"How do you know?"

"It doesn't matter, John. I just do."

His face remained passive as John shook beside him, his painful struggle to breath too much like jagged daggers to his ears. "Rest, Crichton."

"We've got to do something. We've got to get that door open."

As John tried to stand, he slid sideways. Stark lowered his head to his lap, holding him, keeping him safe. The gasping breaths shook his cell mate's whole body. Stark's hand petted his hair, so soft against his hand, so real, not some memory. The rush of emotions in his mind pleased him, the passion and lust for life revival to his own sagging spirit. He reached up and removed his mask, the energy free as he shared his touch with John, soothing him, the calming embrace by his lover Dauneo one of his favorite treasures. "Here." He didn't mind sharing, didn't mind joining this way. He'd missed it so much, had so few opportunities.

The breathing eased, the soft ah before the question pleasing. "What is that? What did you just show me?"

"I'm able to give a few thoughts, that's all." Soothing back his cell mate's hair, Stark spoke in a hush. "Rest, my friend."

Caressing John's head, he kissed him in his mind and then replaced the mask, sealing away his own feelings for the time being. What he knew deep inside, the Peacekeepers would never see, but maybe one day his new friend would know the same things he did. John needed more time and a Banik slave had more than time enough to wait for the man who would free him from his own prison.

The End


End file.
